Sometimes It Hurts
by Estonia Lockhart
Summary: R for dark themes Not much language. Rogue leaves- Logan copes in it his own way. Somehow, I got off track dealing with angst, and I took a turn for the unrealistic, happy ending. So, yes, I have RE-EDITED chapter 5. And, six will be up soon.
1.

**Title: **Sometimes It Hurts

**Author: **Estonia Lockhart, or more commonly known as Gwynje

**Disclaimer: **Never will own them. Too bad- it would have been fun.

**A/N: **This is what comes out when you listen to Stabbing Westward long enough. This is my interpretation of the song, even though it's about divorce and all... I have an ending set up and everything, I have just have tweak it in a few spots. I thought of it while I was at my grandma's Saturday...

**Feedback: **Pretty please with cherries on top?

* * *

Darkness set over the mansion, but a man, dressed in vintage jeans, a dark flannel shirt, and an oversized buckle still stood outside the gates, his large hands gripping the bars as if he'd just been shut out of heaven. The sun disappeared at the horizon line, finally hiding the road that had held his deep hazel eyes captive for so long. She was gone, gone beyond the road now disclosed from his eyes, and he had no idea if she was ever coming back.  
  
Even after the moon had risen in its nightly glory, bathing his face in the beams of light, he didn't move, didn't stir, just gazed into the darkness, his heart exploding in his chest.  
  
She was gone.  
  
Finally, Hank had to come out to the gate and slowly pry the man's fingers from the iron bars. He was instantly flung through the air, landing hard on his backside in the dirt. But, Logan didn't run back to the gate, only stomped off toward the woods, his hands balled tightly into fists.

* * *

Dr. Jean Grey shut her eyes tightly, feeling the sharp jab of guilt stab her in the pit of her stomach. Then they opened again, glistening with stillborn tears as she saw Logan march away from the gate, heading in the direction of the woods. The room she was standing in, even the window she was gazing out of seemed to reproach her by sending a cool chill down her shoulders, causing her to shudder. It was Logan's room, and Jean's freshly packed suitcase sat in the doorway, seeming to be alienated from the rest of the room. Finally, a tear fell as she realized she would have to take them out again, back to her room alone. There was no way Logan would want her there now. No way.   
  
Her chin trembled as a deep sob exploded from her mouth, almost choking her. Shoulders shuddering, Jean backed away from the window, burying her face into her hands. The suitcase sitting in the doorway was a bitter reminder of what she had gained- and lost in the time of so few hours, and it was the only object she could rest on, stifling her tears with her hands.

* * *

Rogue shut her eyes, only to open them again as a car horn blasted through her ears. Quickly regaining control of the wheel, she guided the jeep over to the R&R section, and killed the engine, breathing steadily. She'd done it; she'd left the mansion. But, what happened to the elated feeling of independence and liberation that she had expected would overwhelm her on the road? All she felt now was empty- and alone. Part of her wanted to turn around and drive back to the school, and apologize for making them worry. Another part of her wanted to keep going, keep plodding steadily on and make a way for herself. Her chest heaved dangerously, but she didn't cry; there was time for that later. Now, she had to convince herself to turn the engine back on.  
  
She wasn't running, because there was no one to chase her. No, she was just leaving, trying to find her place in the world. The eerie silence of night surrounded the car, automobiles whooshing by her on the highway. They had a destination, _they _had a plan. But, this had been more or less spontaneous. The real question was, not where was she going, but what she was getting away from.  
  
That morning, the rumor that Jean was moving into Logan's room had circulated around the mansion like wildfire. It had almost been expected; Jean had broken it off with Scott months before so that she could date Logan without a guilty conscience. When Rogue had first heard it, she didn't- couldn't believe it until she saw Jean in her room packing. She'd thought she could handle it, if it had ever come to this. These past few weeks, she'd been preparing herself for anything that could happen between Jean and Logan. But, she couldn't cope with it, no matter how much she tried to persuade herself otherwise. The thought of Jean moving her clothes into Logan's dresser, brushing her teeth in Logan's bathroom, sleeping in Logan's bed with her fingers curled over his waist blew her heart into tiny pieces, fragile bits of broken glass. The suitcase- that had given her the idea, the _desire _to leave. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she couldn't stay there watching Logan and Jean become even more like a couple and maintain her sanity at the same time. So, she'd run.  
  
Logan had found her in the garage, heaving duffel bags and a backpack into the trunk of her jeep, the same jeep the staff of the mansion had bought for her on her nineteenth birthday. He'd been silent at first, just staring at her as she'd climbed into the driver's seat.   
  
'Hey, kid. Going somewhere?' 

That had been all he'd said, just gazing at her intently, as if relaying a deeper message than the one he'd spoken. Rogue had shrugged, avoiding his gaze. 'I'm leaving, Logan.'   
  
How long had it taken him to answer after that? It had seemed like years to her, the time dragging on endlessly as she'd waited for a reply. She'd almost given up, jamming the keys into the ignition when he'd spoken up again, but this time he was closer, his hands almost touching the door.   
  
"Why?"   
  
His short, clipped questions had annoyed her, making her feel as if he was only asking in the role of duty. That's why she'd decided to reply with the same iciness, but when she'd finally gazed at him, witnessing the softened and pained expression on his face, she couldn't bring herself to be cold toward him.   
  
"I need a change," she'd replied, shifting guiltily in her seat.   
  
He'd stopped staring at her then, only ducked his head and scuffed his shoe in the gravel. "You'll be back though, right?" There it'd been again; that imploring gaze, earnest and sad. Rogue couldn't help but wonder if that was how she looked whenever he left.   
  
Fingers tightening on the steering wheel, Rogue could only imagine coming back years from now. Most likely, Jean and Logan would be married, and have a child. Could she bear coming home to find matching wedding bands on their fingers, and a beautiful infant with light red hair, and Logan's hazel eyes? Even the thought of it pained her, wrenched sharply at something in her chest. No. She couldn't.  
  
"No," she'd replied honestly, turning her face away from him. "Probably not." Feeling the tears already burning her cheeks, she'd hurriedly turned the key, bringing the engine to life. "I'm sorry, Logan," she'd cried over the engine, hastily wiping away at the tears. "Goodbye."  
  
Not daring to risk another look at him, knowing it would break her resolve, she backed out of the garage a little too quickly, head jerking forward with the abrupt speed. Logan had walked after her, she remembered, as she'd driven down to the gate. He hadn't chased after the jeep, screaming her name- he'd merely followed quietly, his hands in his pockets, his face dark and unreadable. As the gates to the mansion had closed behind her, she could still see him through the rearview mirror, right behind her, his hands lifting to the iron bars, gripping them in his hand.   
  
Rogue lifted her head from her hands, and gazed dully out the window, the bright lights of passing cars flying past her eyes. She could still go on; after all, she'd gone this far. Taking the car out of the parking gear and resurging the engine, Rogue pulled out of the R&R, her eyes glued straight ahead.

* * *

Jean shuddered, feeling the light from the hallway blocked. Rising slowly from the suitcase, she turned and gazed expectantly at Logan, the remnants of tears apparent on her face. He didn't say anything, only stood in the shadowy doorway, staring blankly at her suitcase in the middle of his floor.   
  
"Logan," she breathed shakily, filling the long silence. It would be better if she just got it over with. "I- If," she stopped, trying to regain control over her breaking voice. Logan didn't say a word, hadn't even made an indication that he'd heard her. She continued anyway. "If you want me to go, I- I'll understand." To show she meant it, Jean leaned over and clutched the handle of her suitcase firmly in her hands, about to raise it in the air.   
  
Now, his dark hazel eyes rose slowly to her face, as if taking her in for the first time. But, there was a coolness in them that hadn't been there this morning. "No," he said quietly, placing his hand over the suitcase, forcing it back down to the ground. "Stay." His tone was cold and indifferent, void of any sign of his true emotion.  
  
A feeling of hope flowed through Jean, and she couldn't keep back a relieved smile on her lips. Yet- at the same time, another emotion inched its way into her heart, nudging aside her relief and causing a distinct shiver to run over her back. By the fierce way Logan was gazing at her, as if she didn't exist and was only a nightmare to be delt with, she knew what it was she felt- fear.

* * *

Logan inched through the doorway, his shoulders falling considerably. He wasn't drunk - his healing mutation hardly allowed him that pleasure - but, he was buzzed enough to be angry and slightly out of reason. A new smell had encroached his room, filling it with a strong scent of peppermint. It smelled and felt so wrong. It shouldn't be here.  
  
His eyes caught a slight movement from his bed. The sleeping form of Jean curled up in his sheets, her dark red hair sprawled across the pillows- made him sick to his stomach. He'd trade it all, peppermint and red hair - if only he could have her back- the doe brown eyes and dark brown hair with the platinum streaks raining in the front. He felt full of wasted air, as if at any moment he would deflate and crumple to the ground into a small ball of nothingness. Just seconds before he'd walked down the hallway, making his way steadily back to his room- he could feel the hollowness of her room under his feet, detect the faint scent of cinnamon tormenting his nose with its incapacity, hear the wind whistling against the bare walls, ricocheting off the empty bed.   
  
'I need a change'.  
  
Her words echoed through his brain over and over again, along with 'Goodbye.' Surprisingly, he'd never expected this, never even thought that after all the years he'd been coming and going, he'd be the one left behind the gate, staring after her as she drove down the road, leaving him alone. _Is this how she felt every time I left? _He hated himself then, for leaving her constantly all those years, never writing- never anything. But, this was different. She wasn't coming back. The way she had said, 'No, Probably not,' was so definite, he felt in his gut that she meant it; she wasn't coming back.  
  
But, why? There had to be a reason why she had packed up so suddenly and driven off without really intending to say goodbye to anyone. He'd agonized over this again and again; why had she left? The only obvious thought that made its way into his mind was Jean. Only when, after all the prompting and suggesting, he'd agreed to share a room with Jean, had she left. Only when Jean had come into his life, had she started pulling away. And, now she was gone. He couldn't wake up in the morning, go down into the cafeteria and greet her with a smile, loving the way she smiled back at him- making him feel so... at ease and wanted. He looked forward to seeing her, watching her live, breathe, and grow right before his eyes. It was as if he was watching the manifestation of a long tended to rose, finally emerging from the bud and blooming perfectly, radiating happiness from all who laid eyes upon it. But, now she was gone, and Jean was in his bed.  
  
Easing toward the side of the mattress, he couldn't help but feel an acrid rage burn within him as he gazed at the woman with red hair, pouty lips, and smoky gray eyes. For some reason, he'd given up Marie for this woman, whether he'd known it or not. Because of her, Marie was out somewhere in the world without him, living without him, smiling without him to see.   
  
Unconsciously, a single claw protruded from his knuckle without hesitation, reaching out in the darkness. Only when the light reflected off of the metal did he realize it had been drawn, and then he knew why. Moving in a mechanical motion, he leaned over Jean and lifted the claw toward her face, pausing mere inches above the flawless white flesh. Sweat broke out across his forehead, dotting his eyebrows. Maybe- maybe if Jean wasn't there... Marie would come back. And, if she didn't...   
  
The sharp edge moved closer, the point indenting the skin at her cheek. Jean's eyes snapped opened, widening as she stared down the long nine inch claws looming up in her line of vision. Her head hurriedly jerked back, and she scrambled out of bed, staring in horror as Logan kneeled helplessly on the bed, his bloodshot eyes following her every movement.  
  
Lifting her hands to her cheek, she felt warm and sticky liquid leak between her fingers. Drawing her hand back again, she stared in shock at the blood, her mouth falling open. He'd tried to kill her. "Logan.." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible as the wind whipped past the window. Dark blood stained her fingers, and finally her eyes raised to his face. "What-?"  
  
She stopped, leaning up against the wall in fear as Logan leaped off the bed, his claw finally retreating back into the flesh. "I'm sorry," he muttered, staring at her sullied fingers, his arms hanging limply by his side. "It was an accident."  
  
Jean shook her head, and felt her shoulders begin to tremble. "No, Logan" she replied, her voice shaking. "You were trying to..." she trailed off, unable to say it. He had meant to kill her.  
  
Logan didn't deny it, but his deep hazel eyes bored into hers, freezing her to the spot. "I was trying to wake you up," he murmured, his eyes clouding over as he looked away. "It was an accident."  
  
She opened her mouth to protest, but Logan stepped closer and lifted his finger to her lips. "It was an accident," he repeated, now tracing her trembling shoulders with his fingers. He knew she was afraid; he could hear the wild heartbeat of her heart, but that pleased him. The gesture wasn't gentle; it was taunting, overlording- domineering. Avoiding her eyes, he instead led her to the bed, pulling her roughly by the wrist. He wanted to hurt her, wanted her to feel the same pain he was feeling because Marie was gone. Share the agony. Ripping the slip from Jean's body, he began the pain of torture. 


	2. 

**Title: **Sometimes It Hurts  
  
**Author: **Estonia Lockhart, or more commonly known as Gwynje  
  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of these characters, so please don't sue me!   
  
**Rating**: PG-13/R for dark themes, I guess. Okay, maybe more PG-13.  
  
**Summary: **Logan can't stand his inability to hurt for long, so he makes someone do it for him.  
  
**A/N: **I listened to this song too much. I'm not sure how well my words reflect the mental image and emotional pain I felt while writing this. I currently despise myself for putting these characters (which I don't even own, mind you) through this kind of turmoil. My apologies to Stan Lee.   
  
**Feedback: **Pretty pretty please with cherries on top?

* * *

Scott grimaced, balling his hands into fists as Jean walked into the cafeteria, a poorly hidden bruise freshly making a statement over her left eyebrow. "Someone should do something," he hissed, glaring pointedly at Ororo and Hank.   
  
The weather goddess sighed heavily, pulling a strand of her snowy white hair behind her ear. Her brown eyes were wide and soft as she gazed in sympathy at Jean, who was now waiting in line. "Don't you think we've tried? Jean insists they're accidents - that the highly flammable experiment she's working on in the medlab is the reason for her scars, and any incident in the Danger Room is how she gets those bruises."  
  
Crushing the plastic fork in his hand, Scott shook his head in contempt. "We all know the truth. He shouldn't get away with doing this to her! Why does she cover it up?" Scott stabbed the eggs on his plate with a raging anger, wishing they were another resident in the mansion.  
  
Hank leaned across the table, staring at the red-visored man. "Maybe there is nothing to cover up," he said quietly.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Scott shook his head. "You and I both know there is more to the reasons for her bruises and scars than she says, and it begins with a W."  
  
Ororo shot him a warning look as Jean made her way across the cafeteria, balancing a plate of pancakes and orange juice. Scott fell silent, but didn't stop forming his eggs in the shape of a 'w', and then scrape them apart with his fork.

* * *

Logan leaped through the Danger Room, the adrenaline flowing through his veins like a rapidly spreading poison. This was the only way he could forget, when there was only instinct and barely any deep thought. A laser shot out at him, and he dodged to the side, ducking as a bullet flew through the air, narrowly missing his head.   
  
But, it wasn't enough. Even the Danger Room was becoming a poor distraction. Everything was becoming routine too quickly. Despite the interchanging of weapons and scenarios, it was still the same- still the same way to dodge, the same way to run, the same direction to head, or the same hole to avoid. His alert senses made it harder for him to sink into a dull state, made it harder for him to forget. For the past few months, he'd driven into near cities at night to fight- fight anywhere. It was a way to release his tension, frustration, and hatred. He hated the way he cheated, hated it when his opponent fell down so easily, and the cuts on his arms healed instantly, hardly giving him the satisfaction of winning. For once, he'd like to be the one on the ground, admitting defeat as blood poured from his mouth, the world going out of focus.   
  
The only time he had even come close to that was when he'd touched Rogue to keep her alive. On the Statue of Liberty, he'd almost died- but he hadn't wanted to. He'd fought through the pools of darkness pulling at his legs, trying to make his way back to Marie- concerned only for her and making sure she'd survived. But, now if he had that chance... he wouldn't fight his way back because he didn't have her to fight for. He didn't seem to have anything.  
  
Always, at the end of a fight, he would come back into the mansion just as the sun was creeping over the horizon, and see Jean in his bed. She was still there, still always there and he hated it. He wished she would just get fed up with him and leave- wished she would finally go away. It was hard to throw her out himself; he used her to force out his pain, as a scapegoat for Marie leaving. Through sex, through speech, through every moment spent with her, he wanted to cause her pain- and hated himself for it. He hated her for not leaving.   
  
Logan dove under a flying missile, and made his way to the exit, the momentary numbness of emotion drifting away. Grabbing onto the door, he felt a loud roar burst from his lips, shaking the room like an earthquake. He'd had no idea that her leaving would effect him like this. He'd had no idea he would feel so lost without her. If he had, he would have slashed the tires on her jeep and forced her to stay- if he had known, he would have never asked Jean to move in with him, never even would have looked at her twice- he'd only continued the flirting because it pissed Cyclops off and distracted him from the growing affection he had for the girl with white streaks- because then, it had been dangerous. But, he'd let it go too far. She'd left him, and there was no way to get her back. She'd left him because he had chosen someone else, and he hated his decision every waking moment.

He hated himself. He hated who he had become, and who he was- without Marie. He needed her, more than he'd ever thought possible. He should have paid attention to how it had been affecting her; he should have somehow talked her into staying, told her how he'd felt. But, it had become so much easier to not say those words... words he'd never said to anyone in his life- at least the part he could remember. God, he'd take it all back if he could- if only he could have her back again, in his arms.   
  
Logan had a foreboding that she would despise the person he had become. That, if she did ever come back, she wouldn't want him anymore. He was selfish and useless and had given in to an agony he couldn't seem to get himself out of.

* * *

Jean paced the room, gazing at Logan with glistening eyes. She couldn't help it. She should be happy at this liberation, at not having to feel the pain anymore. But, at the same time she was... she couldn't even word what she felt. It made her heart sink; it had failed. Whatever it was she had imagined having with Logan had failed.   
  
"Are you sure?" she asked, impatiently brushing away a few tears streaming down her eyes. Yes, she should be happy. But, she wasn't. She was disappointed. With Logan, she had expected to fall in love all over again, to be caught up in a passionate type of love that Logan seemed to promise with just gazing at you with his deep hazel eyes. This should have been her Cinderella story. But, nothing she had experienced with him even came close to that.   
  
Logan wasn't even looking at her. His eyes were glued to the dresser, where some of her jewelry and make-up lay. "Yes."  
  
Nodding slowly and feeling her chin begin to tremble, Jean turned her head away and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Fine, I'll be out by tomorrow morning if you want."  
  
Glancing at her quickly, Logan nodded in confirmation and turned on his heel. "Good," he said, disappearing into the hallway.  
  


* * *

"Sometimes It Hurts" -Stabbing Westward  
  
_Six o'clock in the morning  
My head is ready to explode  
I can't believe I made it home alive  
I don't remember where I went or  
What I was drinking  
I know it made me sick  
And I'm not denying  
That I get this way  
When I try to get over you  
_

_I get this way  
When I try to get over you  
  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love  
_

_I tried so hard to hate you  
But it only makes things worse  
I only end up hating myself  
And as my hatred grows  
So do the lies  
It's hard to face the truth sometimes  
God I feel so useless  
  
God I hate myself  
When I try to get over you  
I hate myself  
Will I ever get over you?  
  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love  
And after all this time you'd think I'd understand the way you feel  
But no  
I only think about myself  
And it's driving you away  
I always knew it would one day  
  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
To lose the one you love _


	3. The Phone Call

**Title: **Somtimes It Hurts (Part 2)

**Author: **Estonia Lockhart, or more commonly known as Gwynje

**Rating: **Pg-13- dark themes

**Summary: **Rogue is finally contacted when tragedy strikes.

**A/N: **I suppose you could describe this as a turning point. I plan to make this story a lot lighter as it progresses; and yes, I will be updating more frequently now that I'm home.

**Feedback: **Pretty, pretty please with maraschino cherries on top?

* * *

Rogue flopped onto the couch, stretching her legs over the arms. Her first real vacation in almost two years hadn't come soon enough. But, now that she had all of the extra time, she had no idea what to do with it. Reaching out to the coffee table for the remote, Rogue flicked on the t.v., peeking idly at the screen. It was daytime, so basically there was nothing but soap operas and talk shows. She pressed the off button, and leaned back as silence filled the room again.  
  
Something cold and wet brushed against her hand, and a grin spread out across her face as she leaned over and ran her fingers through the long hair of the gray and black husky she'd been unable to resist buying as she had happened to gaze in the window at the pet store. "Hey, Logan," she said, rubbing his head affectionately. "You hungry, boy?" Pushing herself off of the couch, she walked the extremely short distance to the kitchen, and kneeled down to the ground to scoop out the kibble she kept under the sink.   
  
Pouring the food into the bowl, she couldn't help but laugh as Logan pounced on it, chomping greedily and thanking her with a soft nudge on her palm. Buying him had been inevitable; as she'd gazed into the window at the pet shop, the puppy had been gazing back at her with his large hazel eyes. There was no way she could have ever turned her back and kept walking after seeing that. If she intended to never see the real Logan ever again, whom she assumed was could be reciting his wedding vows any moment, she might as well have something to remind her of him. But, it wasn't the same. It helped though.  
  
Rising to her feet, Rogue flinched as the phone rang shrilly from the living room. Frowning and hoping it wasn't a marketer, she picked it up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
There was a long pause, and she almost repeated the hello into the phone, when a very unexpected voice sounded on the other end.  
  
"Hello, Rogue. How have you been?"  
  
Rogue swallowed. "Uh- Professor Xavier. I-I- I'm doing well." She bit her lip, an immense feeling of guilt washing over her. She hadn't contacted anyone since she'd left the institute, but it was expected that Xavier would know where she lived. "H- How is everything in Westchester?"  
  
"It's good to know that you're well, Rogue. Everyone here at the mansion has been missing you." Rogue settled herself back on the couch, leaning heavily against the back cushion.   
  
"How is everything?" she asked again, swallowing hard. The fact that the Professor was calling her after a hiatus of two years was odd, but there had to be a reason- and the seeming hesitation to answer her question appeared to make it ominous. Closing her eyes tightly, Rogue felt her heart begin to throb in her chest. _Please, let him be okay, _she thought.  
  
"Rogue," Xavier paused and Rogue braced herself. Here it comes. "There's been an accident. Logan- he's hurt badly."  
  
"What kind of accident?" she asked, her voice scratching against her throat.   
  
"The X-Men were on a mission, and Magneto had detonated a magnetic pull so powerful, with the pressure and density of a bomb, it blew up- so to speak. Logan... he got the brunt of it and has been in a coma for the past two weeks."  
  
Tears slid down her cheeks involuntarily, and Rogue found it was extremely hard to breathe. "What do you want me to do?" she asked quietly, her voice small. Even though she wasn't a telepath, she had a feeling she already knew the answer.  
  
Xavier cleared his throat. "Hank thinks it would be best if you came. You and Logan always had a special bond, and he thinks that if anyone could bring him out of this ordeal- you can." After a long pause, where Rogue tried to muffle her whimpers with her hand, Xavier added, "I have faith in you. And so does Logan. Please say you'll come."  
  
Rogue nodded, and automatically Xavier replied, "Thank you. I'll see you in a few days." She was extremely grateful he was telepathic, and she wouldn't have to try to speak over the sobs choking her. The phone clicked softly, and it fell from her hands.  
  
Logan blinked at her from the kitchen, and padded toward her, his ears lying flat across his head and his tail hanging between his legs. He sniffed the air, as if searching for the source for his master's pain. When nothing unusual met his nose, he nudged her tear-soaked hand, and licked the tears off of her palm. Rogue glanced down at him and cradled his muzzle between her hands. "I'm all right, Logan," she whispered, finally regaining control over her voice. "But, we're going to go on a little trip, okay boy?"  
  
Logan wagged his tail eagerly.


	4. Reasons

Rogue settled into her old room, a feeling of nostalgia washing over her. It was still empty, even after all the years she'd been away. Scratching Logan behind the ear, she whispered a command to him and laid her suitcase on the bed. Packing could wait; now she had to see him.

..............................................................x-x-x-x-x-x-x.............................................................

Drawing back a white curtain, Rogue's chin trembled as she gazed at the limp figure lying in the bed, tubes sticking out of his arms in almost every space available. Logan's eyes were closed, and his arms laid loosely by his chest. He was breathing; she could see the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, but he wasn't moving. Taking the seat by his bed, she leaned over him and touched his face gently, marveling at the heat radiating from it. But, he didn't wake up.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, but none fell yet. Shutting her eyes to clear the blurry vision, Rogue opened them again and gazed down at him, lifting a loose lock of his hair away from his forehead. "Logan," she whispered, gazing at his face for a flicker of change- or anything. "Logan, it's Marie. I'm- I'm here. I heard you got hurt, Logan, and I-" she stopped, choking back another sob working its way up. The sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway made her glance up, but she didn't move from her position.

"Hi." Hank moved further into the room, and held out his hand. "It's nice to see you again, Rogue."

Reluctantly moving from Logan's side, she attempted to smile and shook his large, blue hand. "Hey. It's good to be back." Then, gesturing toward Logan, asked, "How is he?"

Running his hand through his hair, Hank sighed. "The same. He's been in a coma for more than two weeks now, and he's not showing any signs of waking."

Rogue nodded numbly, and sat back down in the chair. "How i-" she cleared her throat, "Um, Exactly what happened? The Professor didn't give me much information. He only said Logan got the brunt of a magnetic explosion."

Hank's ear twitched. "Yes, all of us were _near_ that blast, but Logan was in it. Magneto had somehow managed to accumulate the force of magnetic pressure, and had given it the properties of a bomb." Nearing the hospital bed, and checking a few meters, he then turned his attention back to Rogue. "All of us were knocked out at first, but eventually we woke up." Glancing wistfully at his patient, he knew he didn't have to say Logan was the only one that hadn't.

"What about his healing ability?" she asked him, furrowing her eyebrows. "Shouldn't they be helping him recover?"

Hanging his head- almost guiltily- Hank shrugged. "They don't seem to be. The magnetic blast was pretty powerful."

"Then," glancing up at the beast, she suddenly had a feeling he was keeping something from her. "Why was Logan _in_ the blast by himself?"

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Hank just sent her a helpless look. "I'm afraid you'll have to ask Professor Xavier that."

Unsatisfied with his reply, Rogue turned and gazed intently at Logan. The last time she'd seen him look so still was on the Statue of Liberty, and he had risked his life for her. It scared the crap out of her. "What should I do?" she asked, her throat tightening.

"The most you can do right now is talk to him. Usually, that brings people out faster."

* * *

"Professor Xavier?!" Rogue burst into his office, her anger and confusion far surpassing the uncertainty of barging in unannounced on the telepath.

Charles Xavier had his wheelchair positioned in front of his desk, and his hands were folded neatly on his lap as if he'd been waiting for her- which he had. "Rogue," he said, his voice warning- not because she had rudely burst into his private office, but because he knew what she wanted to know, and wasn't sure if she was ready to hear it.

"Tell me what happened to him," she replied firmly, standing in front of him and crossing her arms. "Tell me why his healing powers aren't working, and why he was the only one _in_ that blast."

He gestured toward a chair, already pulled up across from him. "You may want to sit down, Rogue."

Confusion and rage boiled through her, but she sat heavily in the chair, her intense gaze never wavering from the telepath. "Tell me," she repeated.

Leaning back in his wheelchair, Xavier nodded, knowing she wouldn't want to wait another day, and began his story. "Ever since you left, Logan has been - well, for lack of a better word- depressed." Rogue winced, her arms falling to her sides. "When the warning was sent out about that magnetic bomb, Logan actually went looking for it. He claimed he wanted to dismember it before it hurt anyone, but--" Xavier paused, rubbing his hand sadly over his chin, "I knew that it was because he wanted his pain to end."

Seeing Rogue's horror-stricken face, he anticipated her question. "You see, Rogue, your leaving was just the beginning of his turmoil. After a while, he didn't take any interest in the events around him, and spent most of his time fighting. Then, he and Jean ended their relationship, leaving him to his own devices. For months, he'd walked this mansion looking as if life had lost all meaning."

He waited in respectful silence as Rogue took all of this in, her mouth parting and tears falling quietly down her cheeks. "The reason his healing may not be bringing him out of this coma may just be because he doesn't want it to. His will to die is so strong that he'll do anything if it means he doesn't have to face the world anymore."

Rogue's glassy eyes gazed solemnly at the professor, and then dropped toward the ground. Logan was dying because she had left. She'd left him in turmoil. He and Jean had split up. He didn't want to live anymore. It was her fault- her fault. Now, she had to fix it. She needed to save him the way he had saved her.

Wordlessly, she rose from her chair and nodded her thanks warily toward the professor. It seemed as if she couldn't escape that room fast enough. Her legs brought her back to the medlab, and she was instantly by Logan's side, holding his hand tightly and crying into his shoulder, her tears soaking through his hospital gown.

"Logan, I'm sorry," she whispered mournfully, squeezing his hand. "I'm so- so sorry." When her tears had finally dried, and her eyes began to feel weighed down, she settled into the chair by his bed, still clutching his hand, and fell asleep.


	5. Jean

For days, she stayed by his side, only leaving the medlab to walk the restless husky, and feed him. But, soon Hank offered to watch over him, and Rogue ate, slept, and breathed in the medlab. She spent the long hours talking to him, telling everything that had happened in her life since leaving the mansion.

"I have a job now," she whispered, a faint smile on her lips, his stationary hand still clutched in her own. "It's not the greatest job, but it pays all right. You see, I'm a cashier at a store. A designer store actually," she laughed now. "High-class snobs tend to hang around most of the time. But, it's not so bad. I bet you're wondering how I got a job like that- It was more like an accident; I was just window-shopping and there was a small 'help-wanted' sign in the corner of the window. Just on an impulse, I guess, I went in and applied. Anita- that's my boss- must have liked the looks of me or something because she gave me job right there." Pausing to lick her lips, she gazed around the room, the (life-meter) ticking in the background. "I don't intend to stay there long, only until I can find another job. I've always wanted to do something that made a difference in the world, ya know? And, I have a feeling selling designer clothes to celebrities isn't going to change much for the better."

"I have a dog now. His- his name is Logan, too." Chuckling quietly to herself, she began to imagine the expression on Logan's face. His eyebrows would undoubtedly be drawn together and raised high on his forehead, in the way only Logan could do. Then he'd probably roll his eyes and snort, maybe ruffling her hair or nudge her under the chin with a 'Hey, kid- you missed me that much?'

Almost as if he had asked the question, she nodded, pressing his hand to her lips. "I do, Logan. I miss you so much. Please," she whispered, squeezing his hand, "please come back to me. I don't want to lose you. I'm so sorry. I should have stayed- I shouldn't have ran like I did. I- I was being selfish. But, I didn't have any idea how much you would-" her voice broke, and she bowed her head now, the tears splashing onto the ground. "I thought you and Jean would only get closer, and eventually even marry or something. I couldn't stand the thought of you two being together. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have begrudged you of your happiness- if it was her that made you happy. I should have stayed with you- as your friend. Because, we are the best of friends, aren't we, Logan? Always together, never divided- never again. I swear. I swear I won't leave you ever again. I promise, Logan."

Rogue jumped as she heard footsteps lightly thump across the hallway, nearing the door. Quickly wiping away her tears, and sitting straight up her seat, she tried to look as normal as possible.

"Oh," despite herself, she shivered as Jean sauntered into the room, her thinly plucked eyebrows raising as she saw Rogue sitting beside Logan's bed, his hand clutched in her own. "It's you."

Rogue cleared her throat, "Yea, I just-"

Jean cut her off. "I know," she said darkly, leaning against the wall. "The professor said you might be coming soon, but he hadn't mentioned you were already here." Her smoky gray eyes shifted over to Logan, still lying in the bed. "Any change?"

Swallowing hard, she only shook her head. Jean snorted, folding her arms over her chest, regarding him with a masked emotion. "I don't know why they thought you could make a difference. After all, you're the reason he's lying there." The words cut through Rogue like knives, and she winced, feeling the truth of it grate against her bones.

Seeming satisfied with her reaction, Jean carelessly shrugged her shoulders, and glared icily at the woman with dark hair and platinum white streaks. "I hope you're happy," she said, her tone cold and bitter.

Her brown eyes widened a bit, and she finally regarded Jean carefully, noticing a few scars on the doctor's cheek, tainting what used to be her flawless skin. "What happened to you, Jean?" she asked, pointedly not acknowledging her comment.

Jean's eyes flashed, nostrils flaring dangerously. "Do you really want to know what happened to me, Rogue?" she asked, her voice cracking. Gulping, Rogue nodded. Maybe she could understand Logan's situation better if she knew exactly what had occurred in the seemingly brief relationship between the red-head and wolverine.

Her fierce eyes burned into Rogue, as if she hoped the girl would crumble under her gaze. "I stayed with him - after you left. But, that was only because he needed someone to hurt for him, because he couldn't do it himself- at least not for long." Rogue felt as if a heavy weight had been placed inside of her belly, and she almost screamed for the woman to stop before she said anything more. Just by the haunted look in Jean's eyes, and her first words, she knew whatever was coming next would be horrible.

"He tolerated me for a while, letting me sleep in his bed and live in his room- though he was hardly ever there himself." Jean snorted bitterly, the sour look on her face seeming to draw inward, as the woman sitting in front of her was momentarily forgotten. "He went out to fights every night, street racing, anything suicidal that would bring him home nearly broken in pieces. But, he'd always heal before it was time for him to leave again."

Her eyes blinked at Logan, stationary and unmoving in the hospital bed. "Then, one night I woke up, and he'd tried to kill me- had his claws puncturing my cheek-" she lifted her hands absentmindedly to the aforesaid skin, rubbing it with the inundation of memories. "He said it was an accident- that he was trying to wake me. Then, he took me to bed and... I bled more. That was first time it had ever hurt. With Scott- it'd been gentle, but Logan had hurt me, until I didn't know whether I was screaming from pain or ecstasy. I always had to wash the sheets afterward, because the smell tormented him- and he came to bed even less, unless it was to hurt me."

Rogue flinched, struck dumb by her words. Logan had hurt her on purpose. The thought made her sick to her stomach at the mention of blood spilling during what should have been such an intimate exchange. She herself had always imagined what it would be like with Logan; after all, she had most of his memories in her head, and knew well from those what he was capable of. But, she'd never come across him submitting a woman to this kind of torture. Seeing the pain reflected in the doctor's eyes made her stomach churn, and Rogue fought back a sob. The person she loved most in the world had become similar to a monster; a nightmare haunting Jean's life.

Seeing Rogue's eyes begin to fill with tears, the woman was filled with bitterness and loathing. "It was because of you that he did that," she spat, digging her fingernails into her palm, desperately trying to keep the tears back. "It was the only reason I stayed- because I knew it was because of you. Besides, I thought it would fade away with time- that he would forget about you. But, he didn't and it kept going on. I- I'd lost something I'd always wanted- and expected I would have with him. Logan- I thought he had truly loved me, or felt something strong for me- that's why I broke it off with Scott; Logan had promised me something better, something wonderful. But, then you left and stole it. You left him, and he blamed me. Every time he looked at me, I knew he wished I didn't have red hair- but brown hair and white streaks. I knew he hated me because of you." Her slightly glazed eyes swung over to Rogue, the bitter hatred pouring out in everything she said, the way she moved, the way she stared.

"Then he ended it- told me take my stuff and go back to my own room. That had been at least six months ago. It got worse after that. He hardly even came back to mansion anymore. He'd disappear for days, and then come back without a word with rips and blood stains on his clothing- that was the only evidence. Everyone was afraid- we didn't know how to approach him. I tried-" she choked on her voice, but cleared her throat and continued stubbornly, "I tried to help him, but he always walked away- never even looked at me anymore. Then we got the call about Magneto's bomb. For the first in what seemed like years, we suited up together - Logan included- and went out to vanquish the bad guys. It had almost seemed normal; Logan wasn't in the corner brooding as usual, but he seemed ready and alert. Everyone thought it meant progress."

Jean's chin began to tremble again, but she dug her nails further into her palm, suppressing the emotion. "He practically ran into the bomb. I think- I think it reminded him of what happened at the Statue of Liberty." Gazing pointedly at Rogue, she struggled to understand wholly what had driven him to give up- and it seemed as if Rogue would understand better than she could, though she would never admit it. "He charged into it, roaring at the top of his lungs, claws extended. It looked as if he was trying to save someone, running after someone that meant something. But, then the bomb exploded and he got the full force of it. All of us passed out at first- but when we woke up, we couldn't find him. We found him deeper into the building, lying on the ground of the facility. There was a trail of gashes in the wall, as if he had sliced at them." Jean lifted her hand to her mouth, shuddering at the thought of her own memory. "It was all your fault," she repeated, her voice thick. "Because you decided to have a tantrum and run off. Your fault."

There a long silence. In fact, Logan's steady breathing became the only source of sound throughout the room. Dark brown eyes filled with tears, yet none fell. The reality of the situation smashed into her like a heavy blow to the head. Despite her love for him, even she could not condone the seriousness of his actions. He had hurt - no, _abused_ this woman standing in front of her. Broken her apart piece by piece and stripped her of her dignity because he could hurt himself. It almost felt as if they were speaking about an alien, some stranger who had walked into the mansion and pretended to be Logan. There was no way the monster who had ripped thrown his life away, as well as others, could be the same man, the man that she loved, lying unconscious on the hospital bed.

Jean watched her carefully, feeling suddenly useless. She had come down and delivered what she felt must be said. And, now there didn't seem to be a reason for her to stay. Turning quickly on her heel, she half-ran from the room, the expression of pain and anguish on Rogue's face almost too much to bear- or understand. _She_ didn't have to watch Logan crumble right before her eyes. _She_ hadn't been torn from the inside, blood spilling out every time that man touched her. In fact, _she_ was the reason why all of this had happened.

With a remorseful twinge in the pit of her belly, Jean felt that it was wrong of her to blame that girl - someone so young and unaware of how much she meant to those around her. Even though she knew that Rogue hadn't planned this out, hadn't intended to hurt anyone, it didn't stop the pain burning inside of her. It didn't make the scars disappear. It didn't erase anything that had happened. So, she blamed, and hated, and silently screamed for some release from the memories.

Back inside the room, Marie was gazing quietly at Logan, scrutinizing every line and angle of his countenance, trying to imagine him as what Jean had described him to be. She couldn't. Logan had become a symbol of security and safety, and _home._ The image of the man she had become so attached to wasn't shattered, but it was tainted. She loved him still,; it seemed as if nothing could change the way she felt for him. But, there was a piercing stab of guilt and sorrow inside of herself as she thought of how he had basically and purposely destroyed himself and others - because he had lost her. It wasn't something she couldn't fully comprehend; rationally, his actions had been nothing short of monstrous and shameful, and nothing could excuse him. But, she wasn't angry at him, wasn't disgusted - just sad.

Of course, in all of this, Jean was the one that had truly suffered, physically as well as mentally. There seemed to be no way to atone for what Logan had done to her, and if he did wake up eventually, there was no doubt the score would have to be settled, somehow. _If_ he woke up.

Hesitantly, Rogue lifted her index finger and brought it close to his brow, guiltily brushing away a lock of his hair. It seemed wrong to be comforting him after everything she had just learned, but it was also a natural reflex. No matter who he was, or what he had become, Rogue couldn't help but love him.

But, love still didn't excuse the crime committed.


End file.
